It wasn’t until a year after I first started smoking pot, in the summer of the eighth grade, that I found some friends my own age to smoke with.  Mike was my best friend.  We would score a joint and ride the bus from Bountiful to Salt Lake to go to this park that had an empty swimming pool.  We climbed on the roof of the changing room, and hopped down on the inside to ride our skateboards.  Walk-Mans hadn’t even been invented yet, so we would just sing our favorite Kiss songs out loud as we skated. 

I got us both jobs at Sandwich World.  Microwaves were the new big thing, and this sandwich place would slap some cold meat and cheese on a bun and zap it.  People thought it was the best thing since sliced bread.  One time when we both were all stoned, Mike forgot to put a bottom bun on a hamburger and the guy burnt the shit out of his hand when he picked it up to take a bite.  He was about ready to slug us both in the face, but we couldn’t stop laughing. 

Another time, I was in the back slicing meat and Mike was working the register.  Mike came stumbling to the back laughing hysterically.

“I can’t wait on that lady.  You have to.”

“No way, man!  It’s your turn to work the register.”

“No, Todd, please.  Please, you have to do it.”  He just couldn’t stop laughing.  I threw down my towel and called him a freak as I went out to take her order.  Then, right when I was reaching to take her money, I noticed a long tampon string dangling out of the unzipped fly of her polyester pants.  I hurried and turned my head, only to see Mike still laughing his ass off in the back.  That was it.  I just lost it right there.  She totally freaked out.

“What in the hell is wrong with you boys?”

“I’m sorry. We just can’t wait on you today,” I said trying to catch my breath.

When Mike heard me say that, he busted up laughing loud from the back.  This, in turn, made me bust up again, and the lady stormed out of the place.  Twenty years later when I saw my first episode of “Beavis and Butthead” working at the fast food place; I swore that Mike Judge had to have eaten at Sandwich World when Mike and I were working.

We had the coolest boss in the world.  His name was Tim; he was all of nineteen or twenty.  His dad, Sy, owned four or five Sandwich Worlds across the southwest.  Not only did we have a cool new boss, but we had a killer connection.  Tim would sell us quarter ounces for fifteen bucks.  Tim and his roommate would work in the mornings and go home when Mike and I would come in at three or four.  He would then drive back to Bountiful at nine to lock up the shop.  He would give me a ride home at night, and I have never felt cooler.  He had this bitchin’ Hemi Cuda that was all tricked out.  He would light up the tires and a joint simultaneously as we flew down Main Street listening to Nazareth Hair of the Dog. 

After a few months, Tim didn’t care much about Sandwich World anymore.  All he was concerned with was obtaining more high performance parts for his Cuda.  So, he gave me a key and we were locking up ourselves at night, and walking home…no more cool rides.  One payday, Tim’s roommate came in and cleaned out the till.

“We don’t have your paychecks.  We’re bailing out of state.  Here’s a bag of weed and Tim’s dad’s phone number. Just give us a couple of days before you call him, and he will pay you.  He lives in Las Vegas, so be sure to dial one first.  He’s going to kill Tim when he finds out we bailed with all of the money.”

I agreed and wished them a safe trip.  After thinking a while, I decided it was bullshit.  That was my money Tim was taking.  I still had my key, so the very next morning Mike and I opened up the store and started to sell sandwiches.  I may be a natural born addict, but I am also a natural born restaurateur.  Our plan was to just stay open long enough to get the money they owed us, but this was just way too easy.  So, we kept running it.  After a couple of weeks, Tim’s dad started calling the shop.

“Tim just left. Call him at home,” we would always say.

A few days later we were going to open up, but there were these guys with suits inside of the shop.  I told Mike that it had to be Tim’s dad.  We never went back to Sandwich World. 

We went back to my house and counted all the money we had stashed. We had twenty-eight hundred dollars, fourteen hundred each.  I thought that it made perfect sense.  I was fourteen, and I had fourteen hundred dollars.  My mom was gone to Mexico with one of her boyfriends for a couple of weeks, so I went right down to Craig’s Yamaha and bought a brand new Suzuki RM 250.  When my mom got home, she gave me a leather jacket she had bought in Mexico.  I thought it was just perfect for my new bike. 

She asked me whose motorcycle was in front of the house.  I told her it was mine.  I told her that I had saved up all of my money from Sandwich World (which was the truth) and paid cash for it.  She demanded to see the receipt.  When I showed it to her, she through a fit, not because of the safety issues, but because I had that much money and I didn’t give her any of it for rent or food.  We were still on welfare.  I thought that this was messed up.  Fourteen year old boys should not have to pay rent, no matter how broke their mother is.  So, for the first time in my life, I felt true freedom.  I simply hopped on my bike and wheeled away from her as she screamed. 

After the following year, I had gotten over a dozen tickets for driving without a license.  I was on a first name bases with the Juvenile court judge, and I had completed hundreds of hours of community service.  I had scrubbed every toilet at every school in the Davis County School District, but I still had my bike and I rode it every day.  By that point, I had gotten a lot better at sneaking through the neighborhoods on my way to hit the dirt.